


winner on the dark side

by kingslayer (amurgin)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurgin/pseuds/kingslayer
Summary: The image of his mother possesses him—sheer chiffon spilling over her shoulders and down her waist, like wine out of a crystal glass, its rosé permanently seared in his mind; her eyes, burning lavender, vision smokey as it wafts across the mirror’s surface; and the haunting flow of her body when she moves.Eons could pass him by and Yuri would not forget.“It’s always important to be beautiful.” She told him once, the lace of her robe shuddering beneath her breath as she spoke.Suspicious dice; dice that always produce the same result when thrown. They probably belong to a skilled swindler.Written forLost & Found: a FE3H Zine.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	winner on the dark side

_Ah, how boring._ A lazy thought takes form inside his mind. 

After a while, everything gets to be tedious in a town as broke as this one. Even the sky, endless though it may appear, starts looking dull, sapped of its grand majesty by monotony. Like an old picture worn down by age and nostalgia, a tone of sepia dominates the landscape, washing everything down in that piss-yellow colour Yuri has come to despise. 

There is just nothing cute about it. 

With a huff of his chest, Yuri starts smoothing out the arc of his fingernail, drawing out its shape over and over again with his thumb. That small act works like an incantation, conjuring the past back to life before his very eyes.

The image of his mother possesses him—sheer chiffon spilling over her shoulders and down her waist, like wine out of a crystal glass, its rosé permanently seared in his mind; her eyes, burning lavender, vision smokey as it wafts across the mirror’s surface; and the haunting flow of her body when she moves. 

Eons could pass him by and Yuri would not forget. 

“It’s always important to be beautiful.” She told him once, the lace of her robe shuddering beneath her breath as she spoke. Back then, his mother had surrendered a smile, warm all over, but bitter as it lodged itself inside Yuri’s heart like a hunter’s dagger. The more he stared at it, the more he felt himself come undone, carved to pieces by her good intention. Seeing him look that way, broken so easily, she stilled her hand, pausing mid-stroke to wave him over. “Come here, child.” 

And little Yuri scurried over, taking up the empty spot on her lap before curling against her chest. 

“Here.” She crooned, taking hold of one of his smaller hands and pressing it against her lips. Then, she reached for the small bottle of nail polish, dipping the brush in while speaking to him in secrets whispered. If Yuri hadn’t been so close, his ear pressed to her heart, its beat tender and mild inside his head, he might have never heard her. “Beauty is your greatest weapon. With it, you can slay the most dreadful of beasts or charm the sweetest of knights.” The sweep of the brush was a metronome to her words, counting one by one the breaths as they left her lungs to lay themselves soft against his skin. 

“There.” Perking up, she beamed brightly, her smile steeped in pride. “We match now.”

When she held his hand to the candle, each and every one of his nails appeared to be a jewel of unspeakable value, shimmering like a pearl necklace in the faint light. The illusion only endured once she squeezed their fingers closed, drawing out of Yuri the biggest of grins.

“Don’t you ever forget.” Her tight embrace brought him closer, tickling laughter out of him in the process. “You’ll always be my beautiful son. Forever and always.” 

Long years have since gone by, but Yuri always wears the memory on his sleeve, loving his mother openly for any willing to see. Even as she killed herself one man at a time.

He’s not entirely sure when he first realized what it was that his mother did for a living, for _their_ living, but it was sometimes around when Yuri first understood that she was wrong. Beauty wasn’t worth anything. _Yes,_ his mother was beautiful beyond what words could ever describe, but it never did them any good. On the contrary, it got them in trouble more often than not. 

Out of the blue, a flock of birds shoots across the horizon. From afar, they resemble tiny gemstones of amethyst and pine, gold-tipped and speckled with ivory freckles. _Starlings_. Vicious little creatures that lay to waste entire cities. Like a meteor shower striking the very heart of the Horsebow Moon, they twinkle against the midday sky, catching the few rays of sun not drowned out by clouds before reflecting them every which way in a burst of light. He follows the birds closely as they swing in an arc overhead, sparing not one glance his way. 

With eyes stained by envy, Yuri, alone, plays witness to their flight, watching them disappear promptly at the far edge of the heavens. If only he, too, could spread his wings and fly far, far away. Surely, there must be more to this wretched world. 

A sigh still fresh on his lips, he swings a leg out, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that rises quickly. It sticks to his cheeks, mixes in with the mildew sweat that clings stubbornly to his skin until a new layer of grime forms around his features. 

“Shit!” Before he can swat it away, Yuri starts coughing up a storm, dust and dirt sticking to his throat thickly. In a desperate move, he pulls at his tongue, trying to scrape it clean with his fingers only to find that, somehow, that’s even worse. “Bleh!” 

Just then, as his breathing finally begins to even out, the door swings open to the ill tidings brought on by a cacophony of sounds; the sharp screech of rusty hinges decades in the making, screws creaking out of turn while the wooden panel splinters once more with a long, drawn-out croak. 

It’s a gamble, _really._

Whatever will step out tonight—his is as good a guess as any, but it’s thrilling in its own way. He never could resist the beckoning of a good game, even when playing a losing hand. His heart pounds out of turn, accelerated by the onslaught of adrenaline brought on when he wagers himself to the darkness of the abyss. Inside his pocket, the clacking of knucklebones, sheep’s ankles, clop indifferently beneath the anxious fidget of his fingers. 

“Hey, kid.”

 _What a pity._ It’s just another stranger Yuri can’t be bothered to remember because faces come and go, day in, day out. What _is_ memorable, however, is that the hand he places over Yuri’s is exceptionally warm, and warmer still are the two gems inside it. “Keep them safe for me, won’t you? They remind me of the pretty little lady.” 

Of all the men that have slipped his mother’s threshold in the dead of night, not one has ever so much as batted an eyelash his way. To them, he’s always been an eyesore, the young wolf cub with eyes of burning heather. So, of course Yuri clutches his fist close to his chest, leaning down to kiss a prayer onto the lip of his knuckles that, if the Goddess of old still reins up above, she might listen to his wish.

Still, his voice is small and weak, and, wherever she is, it does not reach her. The man won’t return. His steps fade away to the whistled tune of a melody that goes unrecognized, and with him out of sight forever, Yuri spreads his palm open with childlike glee. 

_Snake eyes_. Wretched and miserable. So very dangerous in the right light.

In an instant, he recalls his mother and concedes that what he sees, what the man had seen before him, is his mother’s eyes. From that day on, Yuri never leaves without the dice at his side.

—

The tavern bustles alive, boisterous with the laughter of men and the giggle of barmaids. 

Barrel after empty barrel, ale pours freely into the bottomless mugs of every soul gathered there that night, Yuri unfortunate amongst them as he goes to painstaking lengths refusing every offer for a drink, offers of which there are many. 

Only the mead inside their cups could ever be as sweet as he is, effectively making Yuri a man to the taste of just about everybody. Perhaps, if someone more to _his_ taste stepped up to the plate, he might feel inclined to accept their invitation. _Eternal flames_ , he might even consider sharing a bed with the right person. But alas, there are a dozen too many brutes with little mind and fewer manners for his personal liking. So, without anyone really worth their salt, Yuri resorts to the one thing better than sleeping around: swindling. 

It’s a hotter thrill for _at least_ twice the payout, a taste acquired over many years.

“Got room for one more?” There’s a grin plastered to his face when he asks, his hand firm on the back of an empty chair. It’s less a question and more about politics. 

“That’s _him_.” A woman whispers from behind. _“_ They call him _The Savage Mockingbird.”_

 _Oh,_ and it feels _good_ to be recognized. 

The weight in his shoulders disappears as though by magic. _Abracadabra_ and Yuri can’t stop smiling. His lips erupt into a wicked grin, eager as he swallows back the excitement. He steels the storm in his stomach and savours the delicious taste permeating his mouth, that nauseating sweetness, adrenaline and addiction. 

“Sure.” The dealer replies curtly. A gruff man, by the looks of it; his gaze works out the features of Yuri’s face briefly before returning to the game at hand. All in all, there are four other men at the table, _five_ now that he’s joined the fray. Yuri takes his seat with a flourish of his cape, crossing his legs in a display of unfettered confidence, though not nearly as much confidence as when he plops down a fat bag of gold. It attracts the ogle of everyone close enough to hear its thud when he lets it fall against the hardwood. 

“Let’s all have a good game, shall we?” Like that, he’s quick to gain their favour. The clink of glasses resounding all around him as the men cheer him on and the women sing praises to his name. Little do they know that the game is already afoot. 

“Alright, then. Place your bets!” With more flair than before, the dealer calls upon them, watching gold rain down upon the table. Yuri, too, loosens his wallet and joins in on the festivities. 

It's time for him to bring out the real showstoppers.

He works them between his fingers, savouring those familiar edges, tasting them on his lips with the swipe of his tongue's blade, before letting the dice sink into the bed of his palms. Rolling them beneath his thumb, Yuri draws out his chances from their jewelled bodies, counting each of the faces like stars across the sky.

Galaxies of lavenders and pinks spun together around a heart of red, bleeding itself dry, _endlessly._ He watches the memories, _his_ memories, ebb and flow and throb alive. The embers of an old passion kindling a new fire within him, a flame that quickly roars into a blaze, consuming him in exchange for the lives of his opponents. 

Yuri hasn’t yet learned to deny himself a dangerous game, not when the Goddess’ smile is upon _him_ and all her fortune is cradled tightly within _his_ hand. He might be cocky, _yes,_ but any good thief knows the value of what he’s stolen. 

For him, it’s a rather short game. For everybody else, an eternity would have been more bearable.

“ _Boys_.” After shoveling tonight’s winnings back into his pockets, Yuri makes for a quick escape. Better go before trouble catches up to him. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go buy myself a nice little present with your money.”

“Now, now. Why don’t ya stay awhile?” The hand that grips his wrist is uncomfortably tight, but it’ll take more than that to intimidate Yuri. “Night’s still young. We could play another game, _different_ game.”

“I suggest you think twice before making your next move. Assuming you’re capable of thinking in the first place.”

When the punches start flying, Yuri tells himself it’s not his fault. Maybe he pushed it a little and, _yeah_ , maybe some unnecessary taunting occurred on his part ( _oops)_ , but it would’ve happened one way or another. It doesn’t exactly make getting kicked out of the tavern any better, but at least Yuri gave it as good as he got. 

“If I had to pick one thing I hate more than anything, it would be being followed.” His lip tugs into a snarl, but Yuri smoothens it out quickly with a sigh. When he gets like this, it’s not cute at all. “Think you can do my job better, friend?”

“Not really.” Byleth doesn’t wait for an invitation to take their seat at his side. “Just passing by.” 

“You’re an awful liar.” To which no reply comes. 

The silence between them hangs like the stars above their heads, dense against a midsummer sky, but comforting nonetheless. It lulls Yuri to sleep, promising dreams of the sweetest kind. When he nestles his head into the crook of Byleth's neck, it feels natural, not any stranger than rain or snow or sun.

"You'll have to do something about that eye."

"Is it that bad?" Yuri laughs freely. He can still feel it throbbing, though nowhere near as painfully as before.

"No. It just doesn't suit you."

" _Oh?_ Have you been paying close attention to me, _Professor?"_

"Not particularly."

Their banter gets lost against the sounds of the night—cicadas in spring, the skitter of mice from bush to bush, owls on the hunt; nocturnal animals, no different than him.

—

One day, he misplaces his bones.

Without them, Yuri feels a little too much like the world is ending. All his ribs are in their rightful place, but he still feels incomplete. Robbed of his mother’s eyes, her faithful memory snatched from beneath his fingertips, he feels— _foolish._ That's the best word he can come up with. Yuri feels foolish for putting so much of her inside something so small. Luck goes as quickly as it comes, but faith lingers behind, and it’s his fault for letting himself get cheated by a pair of dice he put everything in. 

_Trust no one_. 

He knows he doesn’t have the right to complain. This is merely the price enacted for playing at being the Goddess’ favourite. Nevertheless, Yuri turns himself inside out looking for them. Abyss is by no means a small place, but there’s less of it than there is of the world, so he can’t help hoping that _some_ how, _some_ way, they’ll make their way back to him. 

“Lookin’ for these, Boss?” A few days have passed since, but Balthus’ voice has never rang relief the way it does then. Yuri’s so happy he _would_ (because he _could_ ) kiss him right on that shit-eating grin of his. Balthus is all teeth when he saunters over, holding an arm out to where Yuri can meet him with open hands. “Don’t you mind yourself one bit. We’ve always got your back.” 

"You ought to apologize for making a lady work herself to the bone!"

"It's not like you did any work, Coco."

"Hapi!"

“Chatterbox dropped them off earlier.”

Undoubtedly, they're a lively bunch, a gaggle of geese amongst the more refined specimens. But Yuri doesn’t mind them one bit. After all, they’re _his_ flock. 

**Author's Note:**

> Starting the new year with a real banger. Thank you to the lovely mods of Lost & Found for putting together such a wonderful project 💕


End file.
